


The Kings of Black and Crimson

by N3kkra



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: And I'm a romantic, Angst, Betrayal, Chapter Titles are important, Chess and Poker themes throughout, F/M, Hate Sex, Hate to Love, I can't not write smut, Lots of OCs means lots of death, Minutemen vs Nuka World Raiders vs Brotherhood, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Blind Betrayal, Smut, Tags Are Hard, Tags May Change, War, there will probably be smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-07
Updated: 2017-09-12
Packaged: 2018-12-25 03:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12026904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/N3kkra/pseuds/N3kkra
Summary: “The thing about chess is, when the king is dead, the game’s over…. In real life, hah, the fighting goes on until there’s nothing left.”The Brotherhood of Steel and the Minutemen are no longer allies. With the Nuka World raiders playing the field, who will come out on top and win the war for the Commonwealth?





	1. Preface

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TheClumsyScribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheClumsyScribe/gifts).



> I had this posted before but deleted it in favor of other fics, but I REALLY liked the idea and wanted to give it another shot. I'm busy with school, so I'll update it and my other fics when I have the time and will, but I felt I should repost this.

            “Check mate.”

            “Damn, you got me again,” Nate sighed and leaned back into his seat, staring at the chessboard. His last pawn was just a space away from the Elder’s side, but Maxson’s black bishop, knight, and queen pinned down his lone white king. The younger man stood up, grabbing his thick, leather battle coat from the back of his chair.

            “You don’t think far enough ahead, Walker,” he grinned. Despite the fact Nate was nearly twice his age, neither acted out of turn. Maxson was Elder of the Brotherhood of Steel, and Nate was only a Paladin. A promotion he didn’t care to think about often. “You’re getting better at sacrificing pieces for the sake of your team, though.”

            “Until I played with you, Elder, I’d never intentionally put a piece in danger,” Nate confessed as he stood up. The men faced each other, looking almost related from their black hair to their thick shoulders and barreled chests. The younger grew a thick, grizzly beard, though, while the older kept his jaw almost always shaven clean, but allowed the thick locks atop his head to get passed regulation-allowed length before cutting.

            “It’s unfortunately almost always necessary, Walker,” the young Elder sighed and his pout lips turned down. “It isn’t easy when the units aren’t carved wood pieces on a checkered board.”

            Nate nodded once. He was military from cradle to grave, and he knew those words were true, but it didn’t stop him from doing his best to keep it from happening. “Always preferred poker over chess, myself.”

            “I’ve not gotten too involved with the game,” Maxson admitted.

            “Well, if you haven’t need of me, I should really get back to the Castle, Elder. If our plans to destroy the Institute are going to work, we’re going to want the near by settlements ready for any synths or scientists evacuating the C.I.T.”

            “Yes,” Maxson nodded and stepped around the table to march to his terminal. “I have a few files for you to pass on to your associates. Our mission is outlined and detailed,” when he turned back around Nate took the file from him and flipped it open to look over the pages.

            The papers themselves were old, from before the world went to shit, but the writing on them was fresh and clear. “Thank you, sir.”

            “If there’s nothing else, you’re dismissed, Paladin.”

            “Actually,” Nate cleared his throat and tucked the file up under his arm as his pale sky eyes met steel-blue ones. “I wanted to clarify that I’m retiring from the Brotherhood once this is all over. I know I brought it to you before when I was still considering it, but…” his body shifted. “I’ve decided. I want to focus on rebuilding the Minutemen, get them stable so that when I’m not here…”

            “History won’t repeat itself. I understand, Paladin.”

            “Thank you, sir.”

            “I’m sorry to see you go, you’re a fine soldier, Walker.”

            “Of course, we will maintain an alliance,” Nate smiled, his lightly freckled face creasing. Maxson’s lip quirked and he nodded once.

            “Certainly, Walker. I can’t imagine anything dividing our interests.”


	2. Capturing the Black Knight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While on an important Brotherhood mission, Reagan Knight meets some not so friendly individuals.

**Two Years Later**

**Reagan (Brotherhood of Steel, Knight)**

 

            The explosion threw her sideways, her power armor protecting her from the force, but the Knight was jostled around inside the suit enough to feel a new pain in her neck. Landing hard on her back, there was no way for her to get up on her own. A growling swear threatened to leave her lips, but she let it die in her throat when the shadow passed over her.

            Lying still could fool them into thinking she was dead.

            “Just kill them and let’s go!”

            “I think this one’s dead, they ain’t movin’…” but still, she watched him kick her laser rifle away from her hand before bending and picking it up. Resisting the urge to curl her fingers into fists, Reagan took a slow breath to keep from making a sound. All he would see was a steel suit of Brotherhood issued T-60 power armor marred with scars and blood, needing a scrub about as bad as he did.

            The man standing over her was a settler, –had he been a raider he would have emptied his clip into her just for laughs already– and looked scared. The beanie on his head could barely contain his hair, and the clothes he wore had never seen a wash. The gun he was using before grabbing hers was field-manufactured: a pipe pistol. It wouldn’t get passed her armor if he fired on her –unless he pressed it into the soft part in a join and just kept firing in the same spot. But the explosive he and his team had hidden under the car had been enough to blow it, and her unit.

            She didn’t hear any traffic on her comms, so she assumed them dead or playing dead like her. Nowadays anyone that you didn’t leave base with was not to be trusted, even units from your side. It made her sick to think about, so she kept her mind here, looking at the man still staring at her.

            “Damn it’s so creepy to look at…”

            “What?” a new voice came from the north. That’s at least three hostiles now.

            “The helmet. I swear even dead they look alive.”

            “Are you sure it’s dead?” the new voice came forward and pressed their boot against the frontal plate of her helmet. Reagan’s lip curled and she fought back the urge to move _anything_ else. “A bullet to the brain will make sure, yeah?”

            “If you can get the damn helmet off…” Beanie frowned, tucking his pipe pistol into his belt and then awkwardly pointed her laser rifle at her face while his partner knelt down above her to grab her helm. Her breathing was picking up to match her heart rate. She had no weapons, and soon her head was going to be exposed.

            A laser would shoot clear through her skull at this range.

            She wasn’t ready for that. She wasn’t ready to die. No. This wasn’t going to end with Knight Reagan Knight shot in the head on a country road in the middle of the goddamn Commonwealth during a stupid war. No. She was going to make it out of this.

            There was a hiss and dank air slipped under her helmet to wash over her jaw. One second was all it took. Reagan’s eyes slid shut, and she forced her entire body to go slack so that her head would fall and roll as he pulled it off the rest of the way.

            “There–”

            “Fuck, she’s a… girl.”

            “Whatever, she’s a Brother-fucker, just shoot her and we’ll go, we have to make sure the others are dead, too. Jimmy, you get their things?” the voice above her addressed the first voice to speak.

            “Not much’s left after the blast…” ‘Jimmy’ replied from about where the car was.

            “Damn it, I knew we should have set up snipers…”

            “I… think she’s dead, Don, let’s just go,” Beanie breathed, sounding somewhere between sick and nervous.

            “Oh come _on_ , Harry, just ‘cause she’s got a pretty face you’re going to hesitate? Just fucking shoot her and get it over with,” Don growled. He dropped her helmet roughly to the pavement beside her head. It was _very_ hard to remain still.

            “Why don’t you do it, then?” Beanie Harry snapped.

            “Fine, I will.”

            The movement above her head shifted, Don was standing up, and Reagan steadied her breathing, let her body begin to tense. Then opened her eyes at the sound of a hammer being pulled back.

            In a flash her hand was up, the weapon knocked to the side so that the bullet broke into the blacktop beside her face instead of into her head. Her hand twisted and she grabbed his wrist just as he yelped, using the power of her armor to crush his bones. She sneered up at him, her honey eyes bright with rage.

            Beanie Harry tried to fire at her, but he didn’t know the safety was still on. This allowed her to jerk Don down toward her, cracking his face on her power armor chest plate. Her boot snapped up –slower than her fist because of the weight of the leg– and kicked her rifle from the settler’s grasp. He gasped and went for his pipe weapon, but now Don was pinned against her chest, acting as a shield to her head from his angle.

            If only she could roll over–

            “Uh-uh-uh, you’re gonna wanna stop right there, missy,” the first one’s voice rang above her, and Reagan rolled her eyes up to see him. What was his name? Fuck-face? That seemed right…

            “Bite me,” she growled, baring her teeth as she twisted her hold on Don. He flailed his legs as he cried out, trying to kick her, but she swayed her head to the side to avoid the awkward boot.

            “Let him go.”

            “Shoot me.”

            “You wanna die?”

            “What’s stopping you pussies? Fuck, no wonder you’re losing the war,” the knight snapped. “Minutemen always hesitate!”

            He shook his head and tightened his grip on the pipe pistol he was pointing at her. But she jerked her head to the side as he fired and the bullet grazed her ear. Giving Don’s wrist a final twist, the man rolled over, his thrashing leg kicking fuck-face’s weapon. Then she hit the release to get her out of the power armor.

            It was _horrible_ for the suit to open it while it was in any other position than standing, but at this rate, she thought Elder Maxson would understand.

            The armor groaned and Don rolled off, fuck-face went for his gun, and Beanie circled around to shoot at her. The .308 rounds bounced off the plates, and she curled up as small as she could in the arched shell the steel made over her. Now for a weapon…

            Three pulses of three shots each in quick succession snapped in the air, and three hard thuds followed.

            Reagan’s eyes narrowed out at the scene she could make out from the angle under her power armor. Since it had landed in a deep pothole, she was hunkered down in it low to protect herself. The three guys she’d been surrounded by were lying in pools of their blood. Her nose wrinkled, and she tried to mentally track where her laser rifle was last, or where the closest pipe pistol was.

            Whoever shot them was coming forward, moving almost silently, but their boots were making subtle crunches on the pavement. Her breathing was starting to get out of hand. It was one thing to know who was attacking, another when you hadn’t the foggiest idea. This person was using an automatic weapon –the bursts told her that– and they knew how to use it efficiently –surges instead of spread, as well as downing each of them better than she could.

            The boots stopped and she narrowed her eyes at them, knowing what flag they fell under without any more information.

            The tan combat boots were stained with old blood, and while the yellow, spiked toe guards were clean of crimson, they were old and looked as though they had light rusting. The wearer shifted so that they stood near fuck-face’s body. Reagan watched the muzzle of the handmade rifle rest on the corpse’s temple, his wide eyes gaping at her, lips already sack.

            _Tat-tat-tat!_

            Fuck-face’s head popped and spilled red and pink bits with shreds of hair and chips of skull out to dirty the raider’s feet. It didn’t seem to bother the shooter one bit because then he knelt down with a grunt and lowered his face enough that Reagan could see him.

            “What’cha doin’ under there? Ya ain’t scared are ya?”

            Her nose wrinkled and he smirked at her. He had a yellow metal eye patch covering his right eye, and the other was deep set under a heavy black brow surrounded by deeply tanned skin from too much time in the sun. His jaw had a thick black beard lining it from ear to ear, thicker around his mouth, but not so long to get in the way, or could be grabbed. From what she could see his hair was long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail, but it was shaved on the sides and back, allowing the chain like strap of his eye patch to wrap around his head without catching. The grin made his sharp cheekbones more pronounced, and shifted the metal on his face so she could see the bridge of his nose had been broken multiple times in his life.

            “Why don’t’cha come on out, and we’ll have ourselves a nice conversation, huh?” he stood up and Reagan took a deep breath to calm herself. Raiders weren’t impossible to reason with –sometimes it was easier than dealing with settlers because they weren’t above being bribed.

            More footsteps told her this asshole wasn’t alone, and in a moment they were over turning her power armor to expose her to three very different looking raiders.

            The one, obviously the leader, who’d been speaking stood between a man with blue-green hair and a redhead. They were, humorously enough, standing shortest –the redhead– to tallest –the blue-green haired one– and were dressed in a way she could tell they weren’t just _any_ raiders.

            No, these assholes haled from Nuka World –the theme park just outside of the Commonwealth that had been infiltrated by the Minutemen, only to attack the Brotherhood of Steel when negotiations between the B.O.S. and militia failed. At first it seemed that the Raiders were teamed up with the Minutemen, but that was quickly called into question when the settlements that were under the blue flag started to fall to the strange banners belonging to the Pack and Operators.

            It appeared that the two men in front of her, flanking the yellow wearing asshole, were from each gang. The taller one had his face painted so his features were skewed, and his hair shaved nearly completely, leaving a narrow mohawk that stood about a palm high. Even with the dark lines –of a color she couldn’t quite name in the low lighting– drawn over his face, and the red of his sockets and over his throat, so it appeared it’d been slit, she could tell he was young, not much older than her, and several years younger than both of the other men. He was wearing a tank top that used to be light blue, but now had smears of different colors on it like he wiped his hands on his face and then the shirt, as well as dirty and blood. His pants were thick and made of red fur that made him look as though he had the legs of a gorilla or something similar. Other than that, the only armor he wore were fur bracers on his forearms. It didn’t make the combat shotgun across his front, or the sniper rifle on his back look any less dangerous though.

            The redhead was standing a step back from the other two, his green eyes narrowed at her while he adjusted the grip he had on his knives. On his hips were two revolvers looking just as cowboy as the black hat the one in yellow was holding. His face gave away nothing other than his boredom. He didn’t want to be here, dealing with her, she could tell by the curve of his flat lips and the scrunch in his nose. Unlike the other two, his seemed almost straight. The red hair he sported was shaved short from chin to temple, but the top was allowed to grow long enough to be brushed to the center to make a wide, short hawk. Black leather and warped plates made up his slightly more stylish outfit. He looked a bit like he was trying too hard, to her at least, but she didn’t really feel like finding out how sharp those knives were, so she let the comment die in her throat.

            The three of them had so much in common outside of their first glances, Reagan almost swore they were related.

            “Now, jus’ look at chu,” the one in yellow stepped forward and Reagan lifted her chin to glare up into his face. Her neck hurt from the explosion, and she thought she felt her brow bleeding, but she couldn’t be sure without touching it. In any case, she wasn’t in too much pain to make whatever was about to happen easy on these three. “You look… important,” he placed his hat back on his head and then used the muzzle of his gun –still wet with blood– on her chin to make her turn her face to the side. “Somethin’ ‘bout your air. I have a feelin’ you’re more use to me alive,” his deep voice dripped thick with an accent that made her spine shudder despite the words. Her upper lip curled to show her teeth, and he smiled. “Damn, you’re a healthy one, ain’t’cha?”

            “Stop fucking with her, Gage,” the redhead snapped. “One of their damn ‘birds are going to come soon.”

            He was right, and it made her skin crawl that he knew that. She’d been on an important mission, and it involved meeting a vertibird just past the overpass east of them. How could they have known about it though? Only those in her unit knew.

            The one with the eye patch, Gage, gave that wicked smirk that could rival any she’d seen yet. “I think we just found our chip, boys.”

            “You’d better just kill me now,” Reagan growled, her hands curling into fists. She was the best hand-to-hand fighter in the Brotherhood, and she’d be damned if she was going to become a prisoner. She was too valuable.

            “I don’t think I’ma do that, sweetheart,” Gage grinned and straightened up. “Stag, tie her up, she’s coming with us.”

            “The fuck I am.”

            Reagan leaped forward and tackled Gage to the ground, throwing his weapon away and landing a hard blow to his face before lashing a foot out and hitting the red fur covered knee beside her. The painted faced one dropped down as he moved his shotgun toward her. Gage grabbed her throat.

            “Don’t shoot her!” he barked and Reagan threw her arm down on his elbow to break his hold. Then she rocked to the side, going after the redhead who was coming at her with his knives. In only her flight suit, the thin layer of cloth protecting her body failed and the blades easily slipped right through, finding her olive skin, drawing blood to stain her orange and cream uniform. “God damn it, Jack!”

            Reagan’s head snapped back as someone grabbed her by her hood, yanking her back off of the red head. Then she felt the knife that had been plunged into her side torn out. Her honey eyes were amber rocks now, as she glared up at Gage.

            “Sorry, sweetheart, but you ain’t goin’ nowhere,” his lips drew back over broken teeth washed often with whiskey. Then he tossed her to the ground hard enough her head bounced off the pavement. Reagan saw white for a blink and looked up as the man in the red fur pants knelt beside her, lips turned down in a frown, and forest green eyes disappointed.

            “Y’all are jus’ gon make this harder on yerself,” he breathed quietly and pulled out a rope from the bag hanging over his shoulder at his side. She moved, but it was sluggish. He took advantage of that and wrapped her wrists quickly before she could pull away.

            “Come on, Jack, get off your ass,” Gage snapped at the red head and grabbed him by his caller to get him onto his feet.

            The Knight couldn’t track much after that between the head wound and the profuse bleeding from her side. She looked up at the one with the painted face as the edges of her vision blurred. Then she was moved and all she saw was Gage.

            His silvery-green eye locked on her molten honey ones as he grinned, displaying his win. The last thing Reagan could manage before passing out was a soft, “Fuck you.”


	3. Ace of Diamonds Becomes the Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gage got a little more than he bargained for when he caught that Brotherhood soldier...

**Gage (Nuka World, Right Hand to the Overboss)**

 

            “If you want to keep her alive, she’s going to need another stimpak, and we only have two left,” Jack breathed with more disdain than Gage cared to acknowledge. Stag was off hunting, leaving him alone with the Operator puss that would rather be looking in a mirror than their hostage.

            “Jus’ stick’er and we’ll figure it out,” the larger raider growled, silver-green eye falling on the ginger.

            “Fine, but don’t come complaining to me when you need a stimpak and we don’t have any,” Jack sighed and jabbed the woman in the thigh.

            She was a shapely thing, not something Gage got to see on many women back in Nuka World. The Brotherhood had grown her good. Her hips were wide as her shoulders with a narrower waist, and her legs were thick, strong as that steel she wore. He’d felt her power when she took him to the ground. Had it just been the two of them, hell, she might have won that fight.

            Her ugly orange jumpsuit was stained with her blood –not a good look for a hostage you’re trying to use for bargaining– and was cut up the sides. The front of it was held by the zipper and buckle around her neck like a collar to the airship she called home, just passed that, though, she had a great rack. It damn near strained the fabric just like her ass did. Put on top of that, they took off that god-awful hood she had on and she went from prettier than a peach to hotter than a pipe pistol.

            Clean golden blonde hair fell around her freckled face in soft waves. Even now with dirt and blood from her face in it, she looked far cleaner than anyone he’d dealt with in a month. Hell, since the last time he talked to the Boss. That freckled face wasn’t the kind of pretty guys went tripping over themselves for, it was the sort he learned long ago was better than that. The more you looked at it, the better it got. Hell, at first she wasn’t anything special, now he couldn’t keep from staring and he’d had her there for damn near six hours.

            “What’s so special about her?” Jack grumbled.

            Gage peered over at him, boots kicking out to stretch his legs. He’d taken a hit from her, he wasn’t exactly a young buck anymore, and she was a feisty little thing. Little not referring to her five foot ten inches, of course. “She ain’t like the other tin cans. There’s somethin’ with her, and I’m bettin’ that leather-wearing cunt up in that balloon there’ll pay a pretty cap for her. Maybe we can get Mason back.”

            “Fuck Mason, he was stupid enough to get caught–”

            “I’d stop that sentence right ther’,” Stag’s voice rang and he came forward, dropping some food out of one arm into a pile at Gage’s feet, then he held out two molerats as long as his arm, still dripping blood.

            “Looks like you found dinner,” the raider with the eye patch examined the kills.

            “Ugh,” Jack groaned, “Mole rat again?”

            “Well I’m _sorry_ , Princess, should I’a waited till a doe came trampin’ along in fronna me?” Stag snapped. He was irritated, not his normal chipper self.

            “What’s eatin’ you, Stag?”

            “Think I got a stick up my ass,” he growled and then looked at the woman. His red painted eyes narrowed. “She ain’t awake yet?”

            “Nah,” Gage shifted where he sat and let the painted man kneel beside her to check her pulse. His hands ghosted over her and then his gaze narrowed further. He tested the binds at her feet, and then leaned over her to look at the ones behind her back holding her arms.

            Honestly, they all should have seen what came next coming. Gage knew the moment Stag leaned over her and her body tensed that she wasn’t out. Jack’d been too _stupid_ to notice the difference in her breathing when he was close enough to see it. He shouldn’t have trusted the security of their only prisoner to anyone but himself.

            The woman coiled, her body curling forward and the tie around her wrists snapped, but Gage didn’t miss the harsh red lines and dripping blood left behind. When her arms were free she wrapped them around a very surprised Stag and used their weight to throw them sideways. In the moment it took Gage to get up, she had Stag’s hunting knife pressed to his neck, right beside the thick artery in his neck.

            “ _Back. Off._ ”

            The order was hissed through clenched teeth, and Gage stopped where he was, hand hovering over his weapon. He had his sidearm at his back, but if his hand moved to grab it, she’d notice, he could tell by the way those golden eyes watch him. Jack had his knives instead of his guns out –like an idiot– and also stood frozen.

            Stag’s hands were lifted and but his breathing was steady, green eyes locked on Gage’s face. Neither of them were quite prepared for this. _Normally_ Gage would just let her kill whoever she was holding onto, but Stag was _just_ too important to allow a death like this, especially since Mason wasn’t around.

            “This ain’t gonna end pretty for you, sweetheart,” Gage started, slowly lifting his hands to show her he wasn’t going for his weapon. As he straightened, he saw her maintain her composer, her breathing didn’t even seem excited.

            She was good… too good.

            “Stag, right?” she turned her lips into his ear. He nodded once. “You have another knife on you?”

            “I think y’all know I do.”

            “Yes, I do, mind giving it to me? Left boot, thanks,” she kept her honey eyes on Gage, but he could tell she was shifting her attention to Jack in her peripheral, keeping track of him.

            Stag leaned forward, bringing her with him, and plucked the knife from his boot. “Here,” he breathed, swallowing so that his Adam’s apple brushed the point of his blade.

            “Appreciated.” The woman’s voice was lower, with a hint of an accent similar to his own, but not quite. Her long fingers wrapped around the handle as Stag handed it back to her. Then she curled her legs under herself and tucked the knife into her boot instead of cutting the ties around her ankles. “Now, let me make sure I have this right,” she started and pressed the flat of the blade to Stag’s neck. His jaw clenched and his breath hitched. “This is Stag, a member of the Pack, run by Mason, who’s currently in Brotherhood custody. You,” she inclined her head toward Gage, “Are in charge of this little band, but Stag here may just be more important to the gangs than you.”

            Gage tried his best to keep his face unimpressed, but damn was she good. A grin spread over his lips and she smirked at him, a cute little thing that creased the scars of her face and squinted her left eye.

            “You want Mason back and you think I’m worth enough to the Brotherhood to get him in a fair trade,” she continued. Jack growled beside him, and shifted a step closer. The moment he did, the edge of the knife was back on Stag, his pulse beating right into it. He hissed and his splayed fingers curled into fists. “News flash, boys, I’m just a Knight, there are a hundred of us.”

            Gage nodded, lowering his hands to his hips. He didn’t dare go for his gun. No, she was too smart and fast, and right now, she was in her element. Even if Stag tried to reach for the knife, she could slice his artery and he’d be dead before Gage or Jack could get a stimpak in him. “Never met a soldier with such a will to die.”

            “From what I’ve seen you’ve never met any of us,” she challenged him. “You kill us, just like you did those settlers. Tell me, how does your Overboss keep being General if his two factions are so willing to kill each other?”

            Jack lost it then, charging forward quickly with his knives up. Gage made a split second decision as the woman’s arm tensed. His fingers were wrapped around his side arm and he had it pulled out in a flash. The western revolver snapped and fired.

            Stag’s eyes widened and he gulped, looking at the blood that now painted his shoulder. When his green eyes returned to Gage, he seemed to relax some.

            “We only kill each other when someone’s being stupid,” Gage answered the woman. To his honest to god surprise, she didn’t look down at the dead redhead. Gage’s good eye settled on the thin red line that Stag’s knife left in his neck from the pressure she’d started to give.

            “You’ve wanted to do that for a while,” she commented.

            “Sweetheart, I ain’t inta complainers, and that boy right there wouldn’t shut up.”

            Her smile was genuine, and she gave him the most subtle nod he’d ever caught. “Well, this was _outstanding_ , but I’m going to have to be going soon.” She turned her lips back to Stag’s painted ear, “You’ve been such a good boy.”

            His nose twitched, but a smirk played on his lips. “Y’all’re jus’ gon go runnin’ off into the night? Ain’t it a bit late ‘n dark?”

            “I’ll be fine, I’m a big girl.” She started to pull him up, and they stood together, but she pushed Stag down onto his knees so she stood over him. It was then that Gage noticed her feet were untied. She’d spent the time they were talking freeing them. Of course…

            “Why don’t you stay?” Gage offered, keeping his revolver pointed low. “Got food, you ain’t gonna find much out there.”

            “I’ll take my chances,” she sighed, and then she looked down at Stag for the first time since she’d gotten free. “I’m really sorry about this, precious, you seem like a great guy.”

            Gage’s breath caught when she brought the knife out, slicing the raider’s neck. And in the next moment, he realized she didn’t do it to kill him. It was shallow enough to give him time.

            That last stimpak could save him.

            Stag’s hand went up to his neck, and she took off into the landscape. Gage fired at her as he stepped forward to get the stim. He heard a grunt and knew he hit her. Stag could track her if he lived, so he dropped his gun and grabbed the aid, quickly he found a clean spot on the man’s chest, as close as he could get to his neck, and injected him with the life-saving fluid.

            As the stimpak did its job, Gage knelt beside the spot the woman had been tied to see how she worked out of the bind. There was a rock with a point and a lot of frays sprinkled with blood. She’d been awake for a long time, and had been chipping away slowly at the damn thing. He couldn’t believe he hadn’t noticed. She was proving to be quite troublesome.

            A gasp came from behind, and Gage turned to look at Stag as he wiped at his neck and coughed. “She…”

            “Wasn’t tryin’ to kill you,” the older raider grabbed a carton of dirty water and handed it over. “She knew I’d save you, or try to, instead of going after her.”

            Stag nodded, not arguing with or disapproving of the priorities. He downed the water and crushed the carton, tossing it onto the dry wood pile. “I can track her.”

            “I know, I’m countin’ on it, actually.”

            When his hand ran over his face, he smeared his paint some and cleared his throat. “I’ll need the light, though, means she’s got the whole night.”

            Gage nodded, “I got her with a shot, not sure how good, but I doubt she’ll get too far. We ain’t close enough to anythin’ here that she can get help from no body.”

            “Ain’t there a Brotherhood camp just south’a here?” Stag’s brows pulled together, and Gage frowned for a second.

            Then both men jumped up, grabbed their bags, and sprinted in the direction the woman had run.


	4. Deploying the Black Queen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Luke gives Arthur some bad news about Reagan.

**Luke (Brotherhood of Steel, Sentinel)**

 

            “Lancer-Sergeant Glass just returned, sir. Ghost was taken down by a car explosion, it appeared there was also a conflict over the sight between settlements shortly after.” Luke’s fists drew up and he turned his gray eyes over to the Lancer-Knight in his door.

            “Survivors?”

            “Knight Knight’s body was the only unaccounted for. Her power armor was horizontally opened and tipped over. It… appears she was taken.”

            “Thank you, Holmes, if there’s nothing else, you’re dismissed,” he waved a hand at the pilot. The man came forward and handed over the file that had a handwritten report in it. Luke’s attention was focused on it as the man saluted him and left.

            Reagan Knight wasn’t one to so easily get captured, and even harder to kill. The thought of her being in the hands of anyone but the Brotherhood made him sick. She was too valuable.

            The report said the seven-man unit was killed save Knight, whose body wasn’t located, though the allotted time to search was limited. Three settlers were also found on site, but they had been killed with three shot bursts from an automatic, ballistic weapon. Not something a B.O.S. soldier would carry, so unless Knight took one of their weapons and shot them, someone else had shot the settlers. That was in line with the ‘conflict’ after the explosion that took out the unit. The other suit of power armor on the mission had been directly beside the blast and had caught most of the shrapnel, slicing the lining in the soldier’s leg, and he bled out in minutes. The others were either killed by the impact of hitting the pavement, or severe head trauma from a blunt instrument, probably the butt of a rifle or hand gun.

            Luke’s hands ran over his face and then through his thick blonde hair. This was not what he needed right now. He’d wanted good news to share with Arthur, and now he had to give him some of the worst he could think of.

            “Damn it,” Luke grunted and kicked his chair into his desk before roughly grabbing the file and headed out of his quarters to knock on the Elder’s door.

            A second later the steel slab swung open and steel blue met slate gray. “Sentinel Mustang, what can I do for you?” The young man looked exhausted, but that was usual now.

            “I got the report on Ghost Squad, sir.”

            “Damn it…”

            “My words exactly, you may wish to sit down.”

            Maxson nodded and stepped back to allow the Sentinel entry. Then he closed the door, not wanting soldiers who weren’t meant to, to hear. “What happened?”

            Mustang sat down in his usual seat, across from Arthur’s favorite, but the other man didn’t sit. “Ghost is dead, all bodies but Reagan Knight’s have been identified, as well as three settlers.”

            Maxson winced and grabbed the bottle of whiskey on his table. “She’s alive then?”

            “We can only hope. The allowed time to remain still isn’t… ideal for searches.” Luke wasn’t arguing with the protocol, and the Elder knew that. Two glasses were poured, and one slid his way, but Mustang didn’t take a drink just yet. “I have a feeling it was raiders that took her, killing the settlers.”

            “Whose raiders?”

            “I can’t be sure, but given the way the militiamen were killed,” he started and pushed the file over to Arthur, “I’d say Nuka World’s.”

            “Were they Minutemen or settlers?”

            “The difference is getting blurry, sir.”

            “We have to make sure we know that difference,” Maxson’s steely stare landed on Mustang and he nodded his understanding.

            “Yes, sir. Civilians are one of our top priorities.” Luke shifted in his seat, watching as Arthur paced, the file in one hand and the whiskey in the other. He let him read over the page, and when he seemed to be done, Mustang continued, “Not many raiders can do what this one did, and if they didn’t just kill Knight there on sight, I think it’s safe to say they’re going to try to use her in a trade.”

            “For the gang leader we have?” Arthur’s nose wrinkled.

            “Possibly, but they can’t know how important she is, we can probably convince them she’s just a Knight that isn’t worth a gang leader.” Luke watched Arthur’s jaw shift. He knew that it was risky, if they made her appear completely worthless, then they might just kill her. “I can be the one to talk to them–”

            “I don’t want to be the first one to bring up the deal, Sentinel. Let them find a way to bring her forward –if they have her– and offer a deal. They might not even ask for the prisoners we have.” Arthur finished his whiskey and poured another. Finally Luke tipped back his drink, downing the whole of it in one go. Then he stood up and gave Maxson a meaningful look.

            “If she’s alive, we’ll get her back, sir. We have a camp near the site she was taken from, I’ll personally go there and see what information I can get.”

            Arthur nodded and sighed, his hand rubbing at the overgrown beard on his jaw. Silvery hairs flaked his sideburns and mustache, and Mustang had to force himself to remember this man was only twenty-two. “Thank you, Luke.”

            “Of course, Arthur. I know what she means to you.”

            The Elder sighed and stared intently at his drink. “I shouldn’t have let her go on this mission.”

            “No, you shouldn’t have,” Luke grinned, “Doesn’t mean she wouldn’t have found a way to manage it anyway.”

            Arthur huffed out something like a forced laugh. “She’s a stubborn one.”

            “Just think what the kids’ll be like, between the two of you,” Mustang snorted and Maxson actually smiled at that. It was a rare thing, but one that he needed. He was too young for the life he lived, and he never got to enjoy it.

            The Elder’s smile grew sad, his downcast eyes far away from the room they stood in. “I’m going to give her the ring when she gets back.”

            Luke stepped around the table, stopping to stand in front of the younger man. They were nearly the same height, but Arthur was thicker, much thicker, even in only his flight suit. Mustang sported his own black uniform and looked far, far thinner than he was while standing this close to the last Maxson. “We can do this without the other Elders, Arthur. Don’t do this just because you think we need their aid.”

            “She’s been my best friend since I came to the Capital Wasteland,” his gaze lifted to the other man and he rested a hand on the Sentinel’s shoulder. His fingers gripped the muscle there, adding sincerity to his words. “I’d rather marry her than a stranger who just wants my family name.”

            How many women would kill to marry the man before him? Far more than were worthy, he knew that. And even fewer who could make him happy. In the last two years, he and the Elder had grown into a strong friendship Arthur had previously shared with a Paladin learned to be an Institute synth. Sometimes people blamed that synth for the war, as it now resided with the Minutemen. From the intel they’d gathered, it was spending most of its time in the Castle –Minuteman HQ, dangerously close to their Prydwen– training troops in Brotherhood of Steel styles. It’d proven to be quite… inconvenient for their units when they encountered similarly trained militiamen.

            Luke changed gears, though, trying to keep the mood lighter now. “Reagan’ll probably hyphenate just to spite the Council, huh?” The Knight knew just what buttons to press to keep from starting fights, but still thoroughly piss off the right people.

            The younger man laughed and nodded, finishing his drink. “Sounds like Reagan.” He grinned and stared at his glass.

            “I just want you to make sure you’re doing this for the both of you, not for the Council. The other Elders can shove it.” The blonde clapped his Elder on the shoulder and grinned widely, creasing his cheeks with deep dimple lines. “The East Coast follows you, and we’re receiving another deployment in a week.”

            But Mustang knew that Arthur wanted no more troops from the Capital. The more coming this way meant fewer were guarding home. And it felt like instead of gaining troops, he was just replacing the ones he lost. There was only so much he could do, though. The Minutemen had the sympathy here, and their recruitments were far better than the Brotherhood’s. Even with that, the recruits they did receive were rarely worth the supplies and caps they required. They joined to keep from getting caught in the middle of a fight, or even because they just wanted a meal in the straining times. Too many soldiers in the halls of the Prydwen and down in the airport base below were little more than wastelanders looking for a handout.

            Arthur nodded at Luke’s words and seemed to relax. But his face steeled and he looked at the Sentinel with a professional stare. “The sooner you can make it out to that camp, the sooner we’ll get more information on Knight,” he fell back into his Elder standing, letting the friendly air between them fade away smoothly. It wasn’t uncommon, and Mustang was used to it.

            “Yes, sir. I’ll pack a bag and head out immediately.” He wouldn’t need much, but he planned on moving without power armor, so he’d need to stop by Teagan and get some armor.

            “See to it. Ad Victoriam, Sentinel.” Arthur’s fist pressed to his heart, and Luke copied the sturdy salute.

            “Ad Victoriam, Elder.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is as far as I had posted before, now will be the new things! Yay! New shit! Woot! Lemme know who you're rooting for, what team you're on, the flag you're flying, and if you can figure out how I designate the cards/pieces to the people! I put a lot of thought into this story, so hopefully, people like it and enjoy it!


	5. Ace of Bleeding Hearts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Preston is overwhelmed by the losses the Minutemen have faced.

**Preston (Minutemen, Colonel)**

 

            Another death count came in. It wasn’t even sundown and they’d lost enough people to fill a large settlement. Between the raiders and the Brotherhood soldiers, Preston wasn’t sure if the Minutemen could keep going. His head hung low as he stared at the list of names and known causes of death.

            _Ballistic head wound, blunt force trauma to the head, bled out from shotgun fire, laser weapon charge to chest, broken neck from explosion, burns from explosion, crushed by power armor boot, strangled, laser weapon charge to the head, ballistic weapon fire to chest, dog bite to throat, speared through spine, hanged, blade to chest, limbs removed and bled out, machine gun fire, put on a pike…_

            “Preston, what’re you doing?”

            The militiaman turned to look at the man in the doorway and relaxed some. Deacon came forward, running a hand over his shaved head before tipping his sunglasses up away from his eyes so he could better read the paper that had the other man’s face twisted into such a serious frown. “Where’s General Walker?” Preston ignored the previous question.

            “I think he’s running a job for one of the gangs, but General Taylor is on his way here,” Deacon glared at the list of names and flipped the folder closed. “You need to stop hurting yourself by reading all these death counts.”

            “Those were the names for the last forty-eight hours, Deacon,” Preston straightened up, putting him several inches taller than the other man. The former Railroad agent winced and cleared his throat.

            “No kidding…”

            “That’s the reply my men get from you? ‘No kidding’? Do you understand how serious this is, Deacon?”

            The pale orange brows over paler blue eyes furrowed. “Hey, I’ve already lost my whole family to one of _your_ Generals. I would be dead too if he didn’t think I could be useful in proving Danse’s innocence,” then he looked away from Preston and sighed. “Don’t treat me like a Minuteman, Garvey, I’m a prisoner.”

            It was true, and it was so easy to forget. The only reason he wasn’t dead was because Nate wanted his help to make sure Danse never reverted back to his factory settings. Preston hadn’t been with the General over two years ago when the ordeal went down, but Nate and Danse had come to the Castle with Deacon beat, bloody, and barely holding onto life. The General had told them if any Brotherhood soldiers came looking for either of them to tell them they’d been moved to another settlement, and send the men his way. Back then Nate had been a Knight or Paladin or something in the Brotherhood, but Preston could see he was withdrawing from them.

            Nate started spending more and more time with the Minutemen, organizing things, and putting people in a near complicated ranking system. Sure, it was easy enough for Nate to explain how the pre-war military worked, but Preston didn’t get what was wrong with how the Minutemen’s ranking system was already. Either way, rank after rank were created, and then slowly filled as Nate found men and women who exhibited the skills he required for them. Some even rose or fell through the ranks when things started settling in. It took about a year before things were settled, and by that time they were knocking on the Institute’s front and back doors. The Brotherhood broke in the ceiling while the Minutemen went in through the tunnels.

            And now there was a huge, radioactive crater where the C.I.T. building above the Institute used to be. And with the Commonwealth Boogeyman destroyed, Deacon became more of a prize than anything else. Danse was safe, happy with another synth, Curie, here at the Castle. Only a Courser or scientist that happened to know his synth designation and reset code could take away who he was now, and that highly unlikely.

            But the former Railroad agent was under constant watch from a robot Nate had built with the help of Ada –a robot with a little bit of a personality, they’d happened across caught between a fire fight with some other robots and the B.O.S. That entire encounter was a mess as the war had only just started and Minutemen were still reluctant to fire on their previous Brotherhood allies. If Walker hadn’t been there himself, they probably would have lost that Minutemen patrol.

            Ada and Nate neutralized a threat that turned out to be a confused young woman with too big of a heart and too small of eyes. She went by the name the ‘Mechanist’ but was allowed to live, and Nate let her join the Minutemen if she promised to build them robots and pledge allegiance. She was more than happy to.

            The Brotherhood sacked her base three months later, taking her hostage before blowing the place sky-high. Nate still hadn’t been able to negotiate a trade to get her back, and Garvey had near given up hope on her.

            In the mean time, Nate built robots when he could, and trained a few to do it as well. None could match his engineering skills though, and Garvey was starting to think it had to do with some massive amount of time at pre-war schools. Each robot was designed for its task thoughtfully. Deacon’s was a swift little thing, with a Mr. Handy jet that allowed it to travel over any terrain, even up and down stairs. It also had a flamethrower and a buzz saw, as well as an assaultron head, allowing it to throw powerful lasers from its face.

            Svoboda, Nate called it, Russian for liberty or freedom.

            No one thought it was as funny as the General did. Well, maybe a few of the raiders that he occasionally brought around.

            Honestly, it made Garvey sick to see him now. Before he’d gone off to Nuka World alone he’d been such a… good General, the best that Preston could hope for, and then he came back with his hair cut, face streaked with paint, mismatched armor, and a grizzly raider standing at his back how Preston used to.

            A quarter of this war, Nate had spent in Nuka World, letting his Minutemen fight for him, and when he came back with ‘more troops’ those troops very nearly fired on the Minutemen as often as they did the Brotherhood. They weren’t organized, Nate didn’t make them salute or hold to a ranking structure, or even… rules. There seemed to be few given to them while the militia was wrapped up like a Christmas present in it.

            Somehow Nate managed to keep the loyalty of both the Minutemen and the Raiders, despite the infighting, though. Maybe it was because the fighting happened when he was very, very far away. Any time a conflict broke out near the prewar Vault Dweller, he ended it by joining. Whoever was involved was handled in their own way: Minutemen were demoted and Raiders were killed. It seemed to be fair, in its own fucked up way.

            Preston couldn’t look at Nate anymore. He followed his orders because he was still the General of the Militia, and still cared about the Commonwealth. He just did it in a way that Preston would never have imagined. Thankfully with the mass of ranks, came more high-ranking officials, and fewer times that Garvey actually had to be face-to-face with the Four Star General. Instead, he worked more closely with the Three Star.

            Preston turned around and noticed Deacon had left the room without a noise. But the other Colonel was there, standing with the Lieutenant General in the doorway. “Oh, forgive me,” Garvey straightened his coat. “General,” he gave the practice pre-war salute that Nate had brought back.

            “As you were, Garvey,” Taylor smiled politely, his hat in hand as he came forward to look at what was laid out on the table. “You had need to speak with me?”

            “Yes, sir,” Preston turned and grabbed his stack of papers, taking the top folder and offering it to the General.

            Lieutenant General Troy Taylor was the second highest-ranking man in the Militia, but sometimes he seemed to be higher than Nate. Ten years Preston’s senior put him ten years Walker’s junior, but he _breathed_ Minutemen in a way that made even Preston feel a little less patriotic. His past was a mix of stories; he’d grown up in the Midwest to Brotherhood parents, but came east to get a start in the Capitol, and then moved north when he heard of the Commonwealth. By that time, the Minutemen were under Nate’s command and had become something to rival the Brotherhood in firepower –though they were strong allies at the time. Taylor joined up and flew through the ranks until he very nearly rammed right into the Four Star.

            Sea foam eyes skimmed the pages quickly, before he nodded, and set the report down. He looked up to Colonel Booth in the threshold to the room, waiting for orders. “Get me Captain Danse, we’ll be deploying one of his squads north.”

            “Yes, sir,” Booth saluted and about-faced, leaving

            With the sudden silence, Preston shifted, eyeing the General before him as the man casually open the new casualty list. His lips turned down, his beard muting the movement enough Preston almost missed it. Thirty-six, and he had silver-gray strands of hair peppering his chin and faintly dusting the sides of his head. It was most prominent at the nadir of his facial hair. The russet hair on top was combed off a side part with a gentle crew-cut style that mimicked a lot of the Minutemen soldiers. While man Brotherhood shaved parts of their head completely, it seemed the practice didn’t catch on for the militia, and most opted to keep their hair –even if it was quite short.

            “Have you heard any news from General Walker?”

            At the mention of their Four Star, Taylor stiffened ever so slightly. His lips pressed into a tight line, and he kept his eyes down on the list of names. “One of his raiders came to tell us he is relocating a Minuteman settlement for another of their Outposts.” The General’s voice was _almost_ natural, indifferent, but he couldn’t quite mask all of his disdain.

            Garvey’s face ignited and his fingers curled. “Do… you know which?” he asked as calmly as he could through clenched teeth.

            “Tenpines Bluff.”

            At that, Preston turned away from the other man and bit his tongue. That was about as close to Sanctuary as he could without being _obvious_ that was his plan. Red Rocket would have been sitting on the doorstep, but this was basically at the mailbox. How could he…?

            “Garvey,” Taylor summoned the Colonel’s attention and Preston glanced back at him.

            “I’m sorry, sir, it’s just…. That’s so close to Sanctuary…”

            “Sanctuary is the largest, most fortified, populated, and armed settlement in the Commonwealth –even Starlight can’t compete,” Taylor rested a hand on the younger man’s shoulder. “Besides… I have a plan in the works to deal with this.”

            “What do you–” Preston’s brows jerked together as the door was pushed wider to allow in several people.

            Captain Danse with Colonel Booth and Staff Sergeant King stepped into the room, greeting those already there with salutes and handshakes.

            “There’s a Brotherhood camp at the Drumlin Diner –it seems Trudy switched sides. Starlight radioed in they had plans to ambush a Brotherhood squad coming their way from the northwest, but their people didn’t come back, when they checked on them, a third party had come and taken out their men. Brotherhood were crawling all over trying to figure out what happened,” Taylor paused when Danse’s brows drew together.

            “The soldiers’ fates?”

            “It seemed they were all dead, but one body wasn’t accounted for.” The Captain nodded and looked like he was about to start speaking, but the General continued, “A Knight that seems quite important was missing from the site.”

            “A… Knight?”

            “Yes, Captain,” Taylor nodded and Danse rubbed his beard.

            “What do you need me to do, sir?”

            “I want one of your squads sent up to coordinate with Starlight and find out what exactly happened there and see if there’s a chance to take back the Diner. If you’re fired upon, don’t bother; we’ll deal with it another time.” Danse snapped into a salute and Garvey watched Danse and King leave.


End file.
